


practice round

by spadesking



Series: at night we meet like lovers [2]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Fluff, M/M, Sparring, Xenophilia, a little sprinkle of angst here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadesking/pseuds/spadesking
Summary: Plo shows up unexpectedly at Wolffe's work, a mixed martial arts studio. He finds out a few new things about his partner and gets in a little bit of practice too.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: at night we meet like lovers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735939
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	practice round

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a scene from the at night we meet like lovers au I've got going on. I'm really bad at writing in order, so I just decided to write this before going back to it. As a vampire, Wolffe feels wary about being rougher in bed with Plo. So they have little "practices" that are meant to get him to relax without giving everything up. The idea is that he still uses his strength but in different ways. Most of the "practices" are with Plo distracting him in a physical way—I'll leave yall to imagine that.

Wolffe is pleasantly surprised when he sees Plo walk into the MMA building, looking as if he came straight from work in his khaki pants and navy blue sweater over a white button-down shirt. He looks so put together, so out of place amongst the punching bags, weights, and sparring rings. Compared to everyone else there, he’s wearing too many clothes. Both Wolffe and Ponds have taken off their shirts, and Wolffe can feel Plo staring as Wolffe steps around Ponds.

“Huh,” Ponds says, as he notices Plo watching them. “Who do you think he’s here for?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Wolffe says. 

Ponds grins, and Wolffe takes that moment to attack. Three jabs and then a right hook to get into Ponds space, and then following him to the left as he steps to get out of Wolffe’s range. He tries not to let up with his attacks, even if Ponds doesn’t have as much experience as Wolffe does. It’s a shitty thing, but sparring isn’t supposed to be nice in the first place. And it’s Ponds. He hasn’t given Wolffe a reason to go hard on him. 

Ponds looks behind Wolffe where he knows Plo must be standing. “Damn,” he says, too low for Plo to pick up on. “I can see why you went after him. I can smell the guy all the way over here.” He looks away from Plo to block Wolffe’s right hook. “Any chance of you sharing?” Ponds asks.

It takes one second for Wolffe to register what his brother said, and another two to give him a roundhouse kick to the head. He lands on his side, and if he’d been human, Wolffe thinks he might have fractured his arm when he landed. Definitely would be concussed. But Ponds just rolls onto his back with a groan of pain. “Fuck, man.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t do anything worse,” Wolffe mutters, but he gives Ponds a hand. His brother glares at him as he gets pulled up.

“Look,” Ponds says, wincing a little bit as he stands up. “I know you’re trying to impress your boyfriend, but you didn’t have to hit me that hard.” Wolffe raises an eyebrow at him.

“Plo is not a fucking snack.”

“You’re telling me that?” Ponds asks, and Wolffe shoves him. His brother laughs, any trace of annoyance gone in a second. Ponds was never one to hold a grudge. “Hey, Plo,” he calls, and Wolffe turns around. Plo has started walking towards him, his hands fidgeting on the strap of his knapsack.

“Hello, Ponds,” Plo says. “Are you well?”

“Not with this guy smacking me around,” Ponds says, pointing at Wolffe. Wolffe gives one of his signature eye rolls and starts to unwrap his hands. “I’m gonna have bruises!”

“They’ll disappear before you know it,” Wolffe tells him. He knows Ponds is going hunting tonight, so perhaps they’ll be gone by tomorrow. But Plo doesn’t need to know that part.

Wolffe can’t hear Plo laughing, but the quiver of his tusks tells him that something is amusing him. “Well, perhaps Wolffe can be convinced to take it a little easier on his younger brothers, especially if what he’s doing is leaving a mark,” Plo says, his eyes definitely on Wolffe. He doesn’t know what the _convincing_ entails, but Wolffe can take a guess. 

“Care to enlighten me about that?” Wolffe asks. Plo shifts, his body language turning from relaxed to attentive, and he can feel Plo raking his eyes down Wolffe’s body. He, in turn, raises a suggestive eyebrow at Plo, while also feeling his lips turn into a smile.

And then he sees Ponds behind Plo, making kissy faces at the two of them. Wolffe scowls and throws his hand wraps into his bags. “Don’t you have something to do, _vod_?” he asks, his voice tinged with a warning. Ponds purses his lips together and hurries to grab his shirt and bag.

“Alright, guys, see you later! Or maybe not!” 

“Turn off the sign when you leave!” Wolffe snarls, as Ponds quickly makes his way out. He sighs as he turns to look at Plo, who looks a little bit embarrassed, but also genuinely happy to see Wolffe. “That was...”

“Embarrassing?” Wolffe says. “Don’t worry, I’m going to beat the shit out of him when I get home.”

“Wolffe,” Plo says admonishingly, “he’s your brother.”

“Clearly you’re an only child,” Wolffe says. “Ponds may look like the harmless one, but trust me, get him riled up and he’s just as dangerous as Fox.”

“Or you?” Plo asks, and Wolffe stills. Just above Plo’s collar, Wolffe can see the dull orange of his scars. They are still quite obvious, but Plo hardly ever covers them when he’s around Wolffe. Perhaps it’s because he’s comfortable and knows he doesn’t have to explain them. But it’s still a heavy reminder of what could have been.

After realizing he has been staring, Wolffe nods. “Yeah. Or me,” he mutters, turning back around to gather his things. He reaches for his shirt but stills as he feels Plo’s hand gently caressing his lower back. It moves around to wrap around Wolffe’s waist, as Plo moves to be in front of him.

“And yet,” Plo murmurs, his eyes staring straight into Wolffe’s, “I see none of that here. Or here,” he says, moving his hand to the center of Wolffe’s chest, where his heart picks up its pace. “Or here.” Plo moves his hand to settle against his cheek, his thumb slowly caressing the side of his face. “I wonder why that is.”

“Yeah,” Wolffe mutters, his face going all warm, “it’s a real mystery.” Plo laughs softly. Wolffe pulls away begrudgingly. “Let me get cleaned up.”

“And lose all of this?” Plo gestures to him. “Perish the thought. I was actually hoping to catch you before you left. I want to do one of our practices.”

Wolffe feels one of his eyebrows rocket up. “ _Here?_ ”

Plo laughs at his reaction. “Not like that. But similar to it.” He sets down his bag and begins taking off his shoes. “Spar with me.”

Wolffe tries not to look as shocked as he feels. When he doesn’t answer, Plo goes on to explain. “It’s another form of redirection,” he says, as Plo begins to take off his sweater. “As much as you are trying to subdue me, you know not to actually hurt me. Just think of me as one of your students.”

“That—” Wolffe clears his throat. “That won’t help,” he says, as Plo folds his sweater neatly on top of his bag and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

“Then think of it in whatever way you’d like,” Plo tells him. He pauses and looks up at Wolffe. “You’re uneasy about this.”

Wolffe laughs, but there’s not a lot of amusement in it. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to fight.”

“I’ve picked up some things, here and there,” Plo says. “Don’t be offended, but mixed is not my style.”

“How could you ever offend me?” Wolffe says as Plo finishes taking off his shirt and folding it on top of his sweater. Wolffe takes a moment to appreciate Plo’s lithe body. He’s not thin, but he doesn’t have much mass either. Wolffe feels a spark of pleasure go through him when he sees a few scratches on Plo’s side. A few nights and they’re still there.

When Wolffe lifts his gaze to look at Plo’s face, he can see that the man is smiling. “Like what you’re seeing?” he asks.

“It’s a start,” Wolffe says, and he can almost feel Plo rolling his eyes. He steps onto the mat and gazes at Plo again. “What are the rules?”

Plo makes hums thoughtfully. “First to knock the other down wins.“ Wolffe raises an eyebrow. “Just do what you feel is natural,” Plo tells him. “You are not giving it your all, but you are also not subduing yourself.” He stands before Wolffe, his feet slightly wider than shoulder-width and his knees bent. Instead of putting his hands up in front of him, he extends them outward, relaxed, but ready to move if need be. “Remember, this is not about losing control. It is about releasing it, following the flow of action instead of going against the stream.” He tilts his head in a way that suggests teasing. “But if you’d rather not show off your physical prowess, then I understand. After all, we both know who has superior skill.”

Wolffe laughs in disbelief. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks. Plo shrugs, all coy, but his eyes alight with amusement. “Alright then. Show me what you’ve got.” Wolffe spreads his feet into a comfortable position and raises his arms in front of him.

Plo moves first. Not at Wolffe, but around him, his feet never crossing paths with each other. It’s difficult to tell when his eyes are on Wolffe’s face, feet, or chest, which Wolffe would usually use to his advantage. He’s never been that patient, so Wolffe attacks first, with a low body jab that packs half the force Wolffe would normally use and a soft hook to Plo’s side. To his surprise, Plo smacks Wolffe’s first jab down and actually moves closer into Wolffe’s space, catching the second hit as he elbows Wolffe in the chest. Wolffe grunts and lands a couple of hits without thinking, which sends Plo back a good few feet. He's about to apologize, but Plo takes his opportunity to lunge at Wolffe. He barely has time to deflect them with his forearms, ducking underneath a high kick to his face. He throws a punch with his right hand, but Plo slips past it, moving along the length of his arm to land a good few blows on his open side. Unable to get to him, Wolffe stumbles as Plo shoves him roughly from behind.

The thing about Plo is his speed; for a non-vamp, he's exceptionally fast, and if it weren't for Wolffe's supernatural abilities, he would have gotten hit more times than he would have liked. What Plo lacks in brute strength, he makes up for it with speed and agility. He slips past Wolffe's throws and kicks with grace, never once losing his balance. Wolffe does, plenty of times. He realizes that Plo is using Wolffe's own skills against him, and he's thinking less about pulling his punches and slowing down and more about just _getting_ Plo.

They haven't been at it long, but Wolffe feels like he hasn't made any progress with getting past Plo's defenses. The man looks hardly bothered, and if it wasn't for the sound of his breathing, Wolffe might have thought that Plo _wasn't_ tired at all. But Plo's arms are lowering, and he's sweating. He takes a moment to step back, most likely to catch a breath. Wolffe seizes his opportunity.

This is a mistake.

One minute he is in the air, about to land a roundhouse kick, the next he is landing hard on his back. The air rushes out of his lungs, and he's left gaping like a fish out of water. He sees Plo kneel next to him as he tries to get his bearings. He doesn't look amused, or even smug at the fact that he just flipped a vampire on to his back when that would have been incredibly hard for most. As far as Wolffe can tell, Plo is worried, maybe by the fact that Wolffe’s breathing is coming in short gasps. “Are you alright?” he asks, voice tinged with worry.

Wolffe’s laugh is choked and painful, but genuine. “Just peachy,” he manages out. It’s getting a little easier to breathe, and as close as Plo is to him right now, he can’t really focus on him as much as Wolffe wants to. Which is a real pain, because Plo takes that moment to tilt Wolffe’s face towards him with his hand.

“Are you sure? I don’t know how well vampires take brute force, but if I were to warrant a guess, any normal person would be concussed right now.”

“No, not concussed,” Wolffe says, putting his hand over Plo’s. “Can think straight, you’re not blurry, and my head doesn’t hurt. Just my back.” Plo doesn’t say anything. “Hey,” Wolffe says, his tone turning serious. “I’m alright. I’ve taken worse hits from Fox and Cody.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Who do you think got me into fighting in the first place?” Wolffe asks him. Plo does not answer, but he tilts his head in the way that Wolffe has learned means Plo is watching him. Or more like admiring him. Wolffe can imagine Plo’s eyes slowly roaming over his body, taking his time to take in the defined muscles of Wolffe’s body. Plo leans over Wolffe and moves his other hand to explore the broad expanse of Wolffe’s chest, his face angling downward as he lightly drags his claws against the skin. Wolffe arches into the touch, and he takes the time to admire Plo too. His physique is nothing short of attractive, with toned muscles that hide beneath his rippled skin. It’s hard to tell any differences in the skin, especially when it’d be so easy to see it on humans or any other species.

Plo is all in his head, moving his hands across Wolffe’s body as he explores what parts of him are bare. And not that he’s complaining—okay, maybe he is, but Wolffe doesn’t want it all to be exploring. Very slowly, he moves one of his hands to Plo’s wrist, and that almost brings him out of his reverie. Then, Wolffe pulls the man forward, while at the same time, he rolls them over.

With a soft _oomph_ , Plo lands on his back with Wolffe sitting low on his hips. He’s definitely no longer admiring Wolffe’s physique. At least, not with that raised eyebrow look. Wolffe gives him a grin. “Pay attention,” Wolffe teases. “Can’t afford to get distracted,” he says, as he leans forward to kiss Plo on the cheek. He goes to place more on Plo’s face, neck, and chest, but chokes as he feels Plo’s hips roll into his. When he pulls back, Plo is giving him a coy smile, one that sends a surge of warmth all the way down to Wolffe’s stomach. He’d call it cute if it wasn’t so smug.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Plo says, as he rolls his hips again. A gasp rushes out of Wolffe, and he feels Plo laugh softly beneath him. “I’m paying attention to the only thing that matters.”

Not for the first time since they’ve been together, Wolffe feels like he’s been knocked down by Plo’s words. The man bares his words and thoughts with ease and honesty, and it’s all so new to Wolffe. It’s not just superficial compliments and smooth flirtations. It’s the things that slide underneath Wolffe’s guard, like Plo’s method of fighting, that shock Wolffe. It’s the things like Plo moving things into Wolffe’s field of vision, Plo emphasizing Wolffe’s importance and opinion when he could easily go ahead without asking. And when Plo says things like that—

Wolffe looks away briefly, his face warming in a way that is different from the rest of his body. He feels like he is the only thing in this room, and Wolffe has all of Plo’s attention. He licks his lips as he says, “The only thing that matters is how much you wanna continue this here—” Wolffe begins to slide a hand down Plo’s chest and hovers just above the edge of the man’s pants. “or somewhere else?”

Plo hums thoughtfully. “Yours or mine?”

“I am not having sex within earshot of my brothers,” Wolffe says, and Plo shakes with laughter. “What, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Plo says immediately. “Luckily, Ahsoka won’t be coming home this weekend. I have the house to myself.”

Wolffe ponders that for a moment. He’s never known Ahsoka to pass up a chance of staying home over the weekend. "Do you think she knows about us?” he asks.

Plo tilts his head. “Do you want her to know?”

“She’s your daughter,” Wolffe tells him. “And I wouldn’t be too surprised if she has some idea of what’s going on.” He gives Plo a fond smile. “Must take after her dad.”

“In some manner,” Plo says, and Wolffe laughs, letting his head fall against Plo’s chest. He feels the sound of Plo’s heart, a steady but quick thing. As Wolffe slides his hand up, he feels the sensation in his fingertips, and the pulse quickens. “If you keep doing that we might not get very far,” Wolffe hears Plo say.

“Hmm. Wouldn’t that be the worst,” Wolffe mutters. Plo shoves him lightly, and he rolls smoothly off. He can feel Plo staring at him as he pulls his shirt on, and he does the same thing as he watches Plo put his clothes back on. When Plo turns around, Wolffe slips his arms around Plo's waist and nuzzles underneath his chin, kissing what little skin is visible. He feels Plo laugh against his lips and the prick of Plo's claws on his arms.

"Wolffe—"

"Last one," he murmurs, as he gives one last kiss to Plo. He steps back, and he feels a thrum of pride as he hears Plo's breathing has quickened slightly under the mask. "Alright. Lead the way," he says.

"Just as long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself," Plo teases. Wolffe smiles.

"Anything for you," he says.

Plo nods, as if he is saying the same thing in his thoughts, with his hands as they slip into Wolffe's, and in every touch that they will share for the rest of the night. 


End file.
